That's When I Could Finally Breathe
by girlmonstering
Summary: The Council has taken custody of 17 y/o bloodwitch Kat and insisted that she receive a magical education in order to properly control her new-found powers. So now she's stuck in middle-of-nowhere America, going to highschool and trying to put her life back together. Her teacher, the arrogant and gorgeous Hunter Niall could be the best or the worst thing that ever happened to her.
1. Prologue

**Notes:**

 **I've set this pretty soon after Morgan is almost killed by Cal, when he and his mother leave town. In this fanfic, there's no chemistry between Morgan and Hunter. They never kissed (never wanted to), and their mutual hate has given way to a situation in which they tolerate each other. No big moments of connection / confession between them. Morgan is being tutored by Alyce (I love Morgan x Hunter, but I also love Hunter x OC, which is what this.)**

 **I suspect that no one is reading Sweep anymore, let alone the fanfiction, but I recently rediscovered the series, wrote this and thought I'd post it just in case.**

 **If you read, please review!**

 **(Also: I had read the first two books of the series when I was about twelve, then picked them up again this summer (five years later). I had always assumed that the series would continue to be about Morgan and Cal- like, their Magickal exploits and their relationship. Well, MASSIVE PLOT TWIST there that I hadn't seen coming, discovered five years later. I love it.)**

 **Disclaimer: Not my books, not my characters (with the exception of Kat).**

Prologue

I paid for the cab, and, opening the door, was immediately hit by a gust of icy wind. Shivering, despite myself, I squared my shoulders, huddling in my black duffel coat that had seemed so warm in England. Pushing through the frigid air, I walked round to get my suitcase out of the boot.

The suitcase was small and red. Before all of this had started, before magick, I'd taken it with me on family holidays. These days I was always on the move, so this battered little suitcase had become the one constant in my life. I'd packed it tight, full of all the clothes that I wanted to take, so it weighed much more than its small size seemed to suggest. Heaving it out of the car, I felt my shoulders protest. I dropped it to the ground as soon as possible, and, despite the fact that every part of my body was crying out for a rest, began wheeling it up the dirt track in front of me.

At first it seemed like the path led nowhere. If the cab driver hadn't already assured me repeatedly that this was the address I wanted, l would've turned around and gone back. As it was, I continued to struggle up the steep rocky path, until the thicket of trees that I was going through began to clear. As the hillside in front of me came into clearer view, I spotted the dilapidated house perched precariously upon it.

It was built on the hillside, so that the front was on a lower level than the back. As I came closer, I took in the battered roof and walls along with the fragile-looking wooden porch. It didn't add up to a pretty picture. Not only was this house to be my prison for the next six months, it wasn't even nice. The house was tiny, more a cottage or bungalow than anything, and looked to me like it needed a renovation job or seven.

I'd seen on the map and during the drive here that there was nothing but farmland, forest and other cottages for miles around. The closest thing to civilization around here was the small town that I'd be attending highschool in. Widow's Vale. I was stranded in middle-of-nowhere America and would be for the next six months. Not only that, but I was a lonely English girl, away from home, forced to move in to a run-down house with two strangers. How on earth had I ended up here?

I thought back to one of the endless conversations I'd had with Margaret (my council advisor and ward). She'd wanted me to travel to Scotland and undergo three year's intensive magical training so that I could better control my magickal power, stay on the light side and be able to work for the council.

...

'I don't want to be trained up for some job here. '

She had sighed, her weird gold hippy earrings ('they honour the earth mother' she'd said in that voice, all smugly witchier-than-thou) reflecting light onto the wood-grain print plastic of the cheap desk between us.

'You won't have to take a job here. You just have a lot of potential, and we don't want it to be misused or gone to waste.'

Gone to waste. Like I was some kind of commodity or precious resource that had come into their hands.

'I don't see why I have to answer to you.'

And we started the same old argument again. I'd had an … accident of sorts, and the council had grown to know of my powers in the process. When given the option, I'd chosen not to live with my adoptive parents, not realising that the council would then see themselves as responsible for me.

'We need to take care of you. You're a minor, and at high risk if you don't have the guidance and protection of responsible adults.'

'I'm seventeen. I can make my own choices.'

She gave me a skeptical look, cheeks coloured with frustration at my refusal to cooperate. The council needed me, needed my power, and frankly I was insulted that they'd sent someone so incompetent to negotiate with me. Perhaps they'd thought that this middle aged woman with her fluffy cardigans and warbling voice would make me feel comforted, like some bloody maternal figure to replace the affection my adoptive mother had never given me. Nice try, you stupid bastards. It was time to flex my influence a little bit.

I leaned across the table towards her and lowered my voice, keeping it deliberately soft and calm.

'Do you really want me to take matters into my own hands?'

I watched her eyes widen a fraction and continued, seeing that I'd hit my mark.

'Perhaps you don't have to answer to British law, but I doubt the council would be very pleased with you if they ended up being charged with kidnap.'

Watching her struggle to maintain the saccharine smile that permanently graced her features, I felt a thrill at how easy this was. My words were hitting home, and all I needed was to raise the stakes a little bit.

'I also don't think that _manipulating_ and _forcing_ me into training so that I can do your dirty work for you is the best way to ensure that I stay on the light side.'

Margaret drew in a quick harsh breath, realizing what I was hinting at.

'If this is all that the light side has to offer to me, I might find myself looking for … alternatives.'

A shudder went through her body, and the smile dropped.

This was fun, and it looked like, at long last, we might be getting somewhere. Not that I had any genuine interest in practicing dark magick- it seemed stupid. Not only that but, well, it was _bad_. I didn't want to hurt people, didn't hunger after power. I wasn't cut out to be one of the bad guys.

In fact, after the past few weeks, I was beginning to think that I didn't want to do any magick at all, light or dark.

I watched, bored, as Margaret dialled a number on her phone, and begin having what looked like a frantic discussion with the person on the other end. She'd cast some kind of a spell which meant that though I could hear her speaking, none of the words made sense to me.

I could probably have broken through it in a matter of seconds, but it seemed like at this point I'd be forcing my hand. Plus, I didn't even particularly care what she was saying. The result would be the same. Better to leave the spell and let her maintain some illusion of control over the situation.

After a few minutes, she looked back at me. Her face, normally the colour and texture of wet tissue paper, was flushed pink. A purple-blue vein on her forehead had become visible, probably because she'd lost concentration in maintaining the glamour that hid it. For a second I almost felt sorry for this poor train wreck of a woman, who was clearly more suited to desk jobs and tree hugging bullshit than dealing with a snarky and highly magickal teenager. Then I remembered that she was trying to control my future for an organisation that wanted to use me, and my pity evaporated as quickly as it had appeared.

'Ok,' she said, voice trembling,

'I just spoke to a nice man called Kennet, and he's taken the time out of his very very busy schedule to talk to someone for you. Now, I realise that you're upset-'

Margaret took a deep breath before continuing, 'but there's no reason to say silly things. We're all looking out for your best interests, and trying to help as much as we can.'

It took a lot of effort to avoid rolling my eyes. Could she be any more patronising?

She continued speaking in that voice adults use when they think you're too _sensitive_ and _troubled_ to deal with a words said in a normal tone. The voice is soft and deliberately slow, usually accompanied by eye contact and a look of concern. _We don't want to hurt you_ is the message, usually untrue. _We care about you. Please don't fuck this up._

'He says that if you _really_ don't want to study in Scotland then there is someone in America who can teach you.'

Interesting. Hang on, I could see the trick coming.

'A council member?'

Margaret nodded.

Well this was just fucking great. I got to skip the magick-school bullshit and go straight to being a council lapdog. Like I'd always dreamed of being.

'A seeker,' she said, frowning, 'He's a couple of years older than you. His name is Hunter Niall.'

...

I was so caught up in my memories that I only just avoided crashing into the steps that led up to the houses front porch. Catching myself just as my left foot was about to hit the stairs, I hurriedly regained my balance and climbed the steps in front of me, heaving my bright red suitcase up each step behind me.

As I stood at the edge of the porch, a flurry of nerves rose in my stomach and I was frozen. Keep it together, I said to myself. Now is _not_ the time to freak out. Taking a deep breath, I pushed my worries to the back of my mind as much as I could and straightened my back in an effort to regain some composure. This had been my choice, and I was too proud to back out now.

Taking the last few steps and raising a fist to knock on the door (no doorbell, or even a knocker, either because they're witches or because they're cheap- right now I was going for both), I cursed the shakiness of my hands and tried desperately to stop them trembling. After a few seconds of this I resigned myself to the fact that I would just have to keep them by my sides until I was left alone.

I knocked once, then moved one hand to my suitcase handle and the other to clutch the fabric of my dress. As the hollow sound of my knock echoed through the house, I prayed that no one was home and I could just make some kind of quick escape. After a few seconds, my hand went to the phone in my pocket. I could call a cab, get a lift to the centre of Widow's Vale where there'd be a bus to New York. Right as I reached to get the phone out and dial the number, I heard footsteps approaching the other side of the door.

Shit.

The door swung open, silent on its rusty hinges, and I was faced with the sight of a girl who looked a little older than me. She looked out at me from the doorway of the house, glaring, with a look in her eyes that approached hatred. I stared back at her, wondering what I'd done to merit this reception.

The girl was strikingly beautiful. Every aspect of her appearance seemed to radiate appeal, except for her more striking than the venom in her stare was their colour- jet black, in startling contrast to the white-blonde of her waist-length hair.

I only had time to take in her height (tall, about 5'9, same as me) and the fact that she was incredibly pretty in a way that would be girlish and sweet were her expression less fierce, before she spoke.

'Well, then,' she said, annoyance clear in her tone, 'Come in.'

I stepped into the hall, which was small and bare, and she stared at me with clear suspicion, seemingly trying to figure something out. After a moment of this, during which I felt, with intense discomfort, her trying to read my aura (which was none of her business, as far as I was concerned), she spoke again, abruptly.

'You must be Kate.'

She spun towards the staircase without giving me time to reply.

'Hunter! She's here!'

Her accent was surprisingly posh, with crisp articulation that seemed at odds with the fact that she and Hunter had been raised in Scotland. Perhaps the council had misinformed me- I wouldn't be surprised.

As I tried to figure out what I should be doing, a tall blonde boy appeared at the top of the staircase, and, yawning, made his way down towards the place that I was standing. This must be Hunter, then.

As he approached, I was shocked to notice his good looks. When I'd pictured the seeker that I was being forced to study with (not an ideal situation, but better and with more opportunity for escape than the proto-Hogwarts alternative), I hadn't considered that he might be really, really cute.

He had the same white-blonde hair and high cheekbones as the girl, but with pure green eyes that were unusual in their intensity of colour. (No traces of grey or brown, just … green.)

He stopped in front of me and gave me a scrutinising stare, as I shifted uncomfortably and deliberately blocked any reading of my aura. When I felt him encounter the block, his eyes widened in surprise. He didn't seem to exude the obvious hostility that the girl had, but when he spoke it was with some annoyance.

'So you're the girl who's got the council tied up in knots.'

I stared at him for a minute, still getting to grips with his unexpected good looks and the ridiculous extent to which that annoyed me. On a normal person, on an actual _human_ (witches. ugh.) I would have found the combination of cute hair and cheekbones that high and wide irresistible (I thought with a pang of Thomas, who hadn't been quite this stunning but was still beautiful in his own way) but his association with the scary world of magick and the manipulative bureaucratic nightmare that I'd come to see the council as meant that I could only resent the magnetism that it gave him.

He frowned at my silence and then held out a hand.

'I'm Hunter Niall. This is my cousin Sky,'

Hunter gestured towards the girl who stood glaring at me.

Seeing that I wasn't going to shake his hand, he retracted it and sighed, looking even more tired than he had a minute ago.

Sky looked at me, outraged, with an expression bordering on actual disgust. (My recent discovery of magick had left me sensitive to the emotions that other people experienced, which irritated me to no end. I just didn't want to know, and usually deliberately tuned them out.)

'How can you be so rude!' she spat.

Hunter gave her an warning glance, which she seemed to ignore.

'You think you don't want to be here? Hunter has an actual job, a bloody difficult one. The last thing he needs is to babysit some kid with an attitude problem.'

I stared at my feet, wanting to flinch at the barbs in her words, but refusing to show that kind of weakness.

'Goddess,' she groaned quietly, 'and we thought that Morgan was bad.'

There was a moment's pause where I was lost for words. Anything I had to say would be unwelcome.

I continued to stare steadfastly at my feet, noting absentmindedly that I needed new shoes. These ones looked hopelessly scuffed, and the soles were wearing through.

Then, to my utter humiliation, I felt tears prickling at the corners of my eyes, and began to blink frantically, trying to not to think about the fact that my half-sister was apparently better than me.

'Right,' said Hunter, with clear frustration at my silence (and, as I'd just been informed, the fact that I even dared to be here), 'we'll get you moved in, shall we?'

I followed him silently into the next room, which turned out to be a kitchen

The kitchen was small but cozy. Like the outside of the house it was pretty beaten up, with cupboard handles missing and large chunks missing from the surface of the floor, but kept impeccably clean. There was a fridge and a kettle, along with a set of mugs. In the centre of the room stood a wooden table, with seats around it for four people.

Hunter stood by the table, waiting, as I came in. His shoulders were held stiff, and I prayed that he wouldn't get angry. I was too worn out to handle that.

My suitcase wheels scraped loudly along the old wooden floor, the sound echoing horribly around the room, and I began to wish fervently that I could just disappear somehow.

'We only have two bedrooms, so we've set up a space for you in the pantry.'

He sounded apologetic, but his voice was strained.

I looked up at the corner that had been curtained off with heavy dark blue linen, then pushed the curtain aside to reveal a battered futon. The futon was made with threadbare sheets and a worn grey blanket. I noted with some relief that this too was clearly very clean, and turned to thank Hunter.

As I began to speak, I was overcome by exhaustion and all of the emotions that I'd been holding back all day. A strangled noise came from my throat, and it was suddenly too much effort to even stand up, let alone form words. I used what felt like the last of my strength to wheel my suitcase into place and sit down on the bed.

Hunter stood awkwardly, opening his mouth as if to continue where Sky had left off, but seeming to think better of it. He shifted where he was standing before breathing a heavy nasal sigh and shaking his head.

'We'll have our first lesson tomorrow. Get some sleep.'

With those words he left, and I checked the time on my watch (which I'd set on the flight here).

11 p.m. It would be 3 a.m in London and I was hit by another wave of exhaustion.

Drawing the thick curtains around me, I opened my suitcase to get out my pyjamas. Changing my clothes, I climbed into bed, too tired to think or do anything else.

Drifting off to sleep, I felt tears rolling down my face, light at first and then building up into a steady rush. I wasn't crying at anything in particular, but in the way that I had gotten used to over the past few weeks. Soft and automatic and involuntary, like breathing.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes:**

 **Hello there. Sloppy editing and characterization (on my part) aside, it is nice to post another chapter. If there continue to be few / no readers after I post the next few chapters, I'll probably put this story on hold in order to focus on my HP fic. (I'll still post updates, but they won't take priority.)**

 **So, reader. If you do exist and you do want me to continue posting...**

 ***Winks***

 **You know what to do.**

Chapter One

Morgan's half-sister Kate arrived yesterday. The Council sent her. She seemed sullen and resentful- the Kennet told me that she's refused an education in Scotland most witches would give their right arm for. They haven't told me much else though. Not why she's in their custody or even why she doesn't seem to have a last name. I have the awful feeling that she's as powerful as Morgan, if not more so, but with even less education and self-restraint. Goddess preserve us.

We're still trying to track down Cal and Selene. There's been no sign of either of them since they disappeared three weeks ago. I spent the best part of yesterday trying to get into Selene Belltower's library, with no success.

Giomanach

I woke up at 6 a.m, still exhausted but somehow unable to get back to sleep. Resigned to wakefulness, I stayed in bed and thought back over the events of yesterday. Remembering what had happened, I became aware of a desperate longing to be home. God- I- home. I missed it so much.

I'd left for Heathrow to catch my flight. On my way there, in the cab the council had sent, I'd foolishly imagined that Thomas might be there to see me off. I hadn't told him what time my flight was, but he knew which day I was leaving. I'd thought that he might find out there was only one flight that day and go to see me off. As we pulled in to Terminal Four, I realised with a pang that he wouldn't be there. This was my life, not a film. And things like that don't happen in real life.

I'd spent the flight staring out of the window in nervous tension, refusing to even look at the Wicca books that the council had given me. I was in business class, as I'd demanded in a fit of childish pique that I was now deeply embarrassed about.

I kind of knew that I was being a brat. My situation wasn't _really_ that bad, all things considered.

Cringing at what I remembered of Sky's speech from the day before, I resolved grimly to behave a little better.

As I thought with some apprehension about what the days and months ahead of me might hold in store, I sensed and then heard Hunter walk from the hall into the kitchen and start making a cup of tea.

'You want one?'

Of course. He could tell I was awake. And he was being a lot politer than I deserved.

'Yeah, please,' I replied, my voice raspy from having not spoken for the past couple of days.

I felt his surprise and relief at hearing me speak, along with a kind of nervous energy that I couldn't quite put my finger on. Although, now that I thought of it, I was filled with an odd energy now that he was here, as if there was some electricity in the air. I could feel myself sitting up straighter, suddenly more awake. I guessed that it was the stress of being in an entirely new situation and surrounded by strangers that was just catching up with me.

I drew the curtain back and walked hesitantly towards the kitchen table, shivering with cold in the morning air and at the freezing floor beneath my feet.

Drawing back a chair, I sat down and tried to think of something to say. Words never came to me easily unless I knew people very well, and it had gotten worse in the past few months.

Hunter walked to take the chair across from me at the little table (which seated four people) and pushed a mug towards me.

'I'm not sure how you take your tea, but I've added sugar and milk.'

I paused, heart fluttering for some reason, before replying.

'That's fine.'

I cringed at my own cold manner and the pathetic sound of my voice.

He yawned, and gave me a look of scrutiny, seeming on edge despite his calm outward manner. When I'd gotten this reading on him, he gave me a sharp look, clearly annoyed by my scan.

'I'm not sure why you think it's ok to shut yourself off while reading everyone else. What's with the blocks? What are you trying to hide?

I took a second to process the question. I wasn't really trying to hide anything … I was just tired of people being concerned, being annoyed. At least in the real world you could smile and fool everyone. Being around witches without blocks was hell. I'd tried it for a few days in England, tired of having to constantly concentrate, but I couldn't stand the lack of privacy. Everyone could feel it when I hurt, when I cried.

He leaned across the table towards me, and some part of my mind registered that his hair was unbrushed, sticking up in different directions, but that it actually looked really good like that. Thrown by that thought, I struggled to focus on finding words that would hide what I felt while seeming sincere and polite.

'What are you hiding?' he repeated, looking at me intensely as if trying to figure something out.

I fought for the right words, then panicked and just said the first thing that came into my mind

'I don't want to be pitied.'

He blinked in surprise, and then moved back, his expression softening slightly.

'So you say,'

His eyes moved down my body, registering with some shock the scars that covered one of my arms. I regretted saying anything, and wished fervently that I'd put on a sweater rather than just coming out in the tank top and girl-boxers that I'd worn to sleep.

He opened his mouth as if to comment, and then seemed to think better of it. A beat passed and he said carefully,

'It'll be a lot easier for me to teach you if we can trust each other, at least a little.'

I nodded stiffly, not trusting myself to reply.

Just as he seemed about to say something else, Sky walked in, and, seemingly out of nowhere announced,

'I don't like this. We don't know anything about her, if she's even who she claims to be.'

I turned to look at her. To hell with it. I was going to have to start talking again and acting a little more human (ha) than I'd done for the past month or so if I was going to survive this. In that moment I felt myself emerging a little bit from the shell that I'd been trapped in for such a long time.

''Why would I pretend to be someone I'm not?'

Sky let out a harsh laugh, but seemed surprised and taken aback by my speech.

'I've made a lot of enemies in my profession,' Hunter said quietly.

'I'm not sure how we'd check, though. The council hasn't given me anything to go on. Just that she's Ciaran's other daughter, and that she needs teaching to manage her power.'

'Teaching!' exclaimed Sky, 'She doesn't even speak, and she's powerful enough to block both of us out.'

I coughed.

'I, ah, I'm speaking now,' I said.

I sounded like an idiot.

Sky gave me a look which made obvious that she, too, thought that I was an idiot. Then she turned back to Hunter, and continued as if I wasn't even there.

'She'll be in the house all day, every day. If she was a spy for Cal and Selene, she'd have just walked in to the perfect set-up.'

Hunter looked back at her, seeming to communicate without words. Although, for all I knew, witches could probably communicate telepathically with each other. I'd never tried.

Sky frowned, as if in reply to something he'd said.

'School will start in a few days anyway,' Hunter said aloud, presumably for my benefit, 'so she'll be out most of the time, anyway.'

Sky frowned, then flounced over to the counter where she started making toast.

Having both finished breakfast and gotten dressed we walked in silence to the living room. Hunter took a seat, seeming ill at ease in my presence. I sat down across from him, and stared at the sparsely carpeted floor.

'What kind of magick are you interested in learning?' he asked abruptly.

I should have been used to it, but every time he spoke or looked at me, or was even in the same room, all my senses seemed heightened. The question itself had also thrown me. I tried to make up a plausible answer, but he turned his gaze on me, and, knocked off balance, I somehow ended up replying

'I don't think I want to learn magick.'

It was his turn to be thrown. His eyes widened, and mouth opened for a second in what was an almost comic expression of shock.

'You... what?'

'I don't think I want to learn magick.'

He seemed to gather himself, but still looked entirely lost.

'I don't understand.'

I shrugged, helplessly, playing with the zipper of the bomber jacket that I'd donned upon learning that they had no central heating.

His voice grew gentler, and he spoke with something approaching genuine compassion,

'Why don't you want to learn magick?'

I looked away, at the trees visible through the window. Why didn't I want to? If you'd asked me a couple of years ago, I'd have been eager to do any kind of magic, without knowing that I had incredible powers, that it was my birthright. The previous year, though, and the one before, had left me numb. A shell of who I used to be.

Another thing I'd thought before was that I was tough and able to endure any amount of horror without giving in. I knew better now. I knew that there was only so much pain that I could go through before I just shut down.

Tears pricked at my eyes again, and I kept looking away, praying against all reason that he wouldn't notice the way that my jaw was trembling.

To my surprise, I felt some sympathy radiate towards me from him, along with a great deal of ill-suppressed curiosity.

I looked back at him, forcing a smile.

'Fascinating, isn't it,' I said, the words coming out sharper than I'd intended.

He looked apologetic then, and, shifting towards me in his armchair, spoke quietly,

'Can you tell me what happened?'

Oh, christ. This is why I didn't talk to people about feelings. With that question, a rush of sobbing overtook my body, as I cried in earnest, despite it being the last thing I wanted to be doing.

Something about this boy brought my guard down, and I hated it with a frightening passion.

I doubled over crying, and, unexpectedly, felt a hand fall hesitantly over mine, which was lying on the coffee table between us. As soon as I felt that contact, a whole series of emotions flooded into my mind, so strong that I felt ill.

My thoughts seemed scrambled by this unexpected rush of sensation. What was happening? Had he cast some kind of a spell on me? Snatching my hand back, I tried to figure out what had happened. Before I could really try to puzzle this out, I realised that the feeling had been strong enough to break my concentration in keeping up my blocks. Which meant that-

I registered, with a growing horror that the mix of emotions radiating at me from across the table now included pity. Great. Just fucking great. The emotional rush, though, what ever it had been, had broken my crying jag. I tried to regain some composure, rising back into a sitting position and avoiding Hunter's gaze.

He seemed unsure of what to say. Hesitantly, he reached out a hand, as if to touch my forehead, and I flinched.

'Please don't.'

He drew his hand back and drew a few runes in the air in front of me.

'Jera for peace. Pynn for happiness. Inguz for new beginnings.'

I felt the pain and the pressure that had built up in my chest ease up a little bit.

'Thanks. I- I'm sorry. I'm …. tired. Can I go sleep?' I muttered, trying to stop my voice from wavering and breaking as it seemed to want to.

I was still avoiding his eyes, but my witchy senses (which seemed to be supercharged around him) felt the air move when he nodded.

I got up, filled with shame at the way I'd failed to hold it together.

As I walked out, I heard him say, quietly,

'I'll bring you some books later. You can study from those today, alright?'

I nodded, and walked to my corner of the kitchen where I drew the curtains and lay down.

It was moments like these, when everything in and around me seemed broken, the jagged edges stabbing at me, that my worst impulses came out to play. The desire to do a whole host of stupid self-destructive things razed through my mind and I balled up my fists around the threadbare blanket that covered my bed.

I wouldn't give in. I was out of that game- trying to get better, to live my life properly. I'd been doing a lot better for the past few weeks- walking, talking, smiling, taking an interest in things. I reminded myself that I'd do better soon, once I got out there. I'd just been knocked off balance by the change in my surroundings.

It was going to be ok.

It had to be.


End file.
